Death Eater's Child
by angelus cado
Summary: When Bellatrix and Rodolophus are thrown into Azkaban, they left behind an infant son. Now fourteen, he is a fourth year Slytherin. Join William as he finds out what being a DE's child is all about.
1. Chapter 1

Death Eater's Child—Chapter 1

'The Day That Changed My Life'

            I woke up one morning with a start; I knew something was going to go wrong today.  I don't see myself as a prophet of a Seer; I could just tell when things were off in the world.  I would call it women's intuition; the only problem is I'm not a woman.

            I'm William Lestrange, son of the infamous (and now probably insane) Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange.  I never knew them, though; they got themselves thrown into Azkaban a few months after I was born, and I got placed in a wizarding orphanage soon after that by my other family members.  Hell, I didn't even _know I had family until I came to Hogwarts and was sorted into Slytherin._

            Yes, I am a Slytherin; fourth year, to be exact.  I'm one year below my cousin, Draco Malfoy, and I'm glad we're in different years because we don't get along very well.  Actually, come to think of it, I don't really get along with anyone.  I don't mind it, though; I prefer the solitude of books over the companionship of people.  In my opinion, I would have probably been happier in Ravenclaw, but I think my cousin would give me more shit than he already does.

            Knowing I would probably be late if I lounged in bed any longer, I sat up and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as my feet made contact with the cold stone floor.  I cursed Snape for being such a cheap bastard and not suggesting to Dumbledore that it would be a good idea to put carpets in the dormitories as I fished my slippers out from under my bed with my toe.  Finding them, I padded my way to the bathroom and had my shower, thankful that my dorm was empty.  All of my year mates were probably either at breakfast or in the common room.

            After my shower I got dressed and headed down to the common room, tripping slightly on the hem of my slightly-too-large robes.  I couldn't help it; I bought them second-hand out of the lost and found off Snape because my other robes were about four inches too short for me.  I learned at a very young age that having your clothes too big was much better than having them fit properly, as you never knew when you were going to get new ones.

            After seeing crossing the empty common room, I made the very lonely trek up to the Great Hall.  I went to my usual spot at the very end of the Slytherin table closest to the door, so I could get out of the Hall as soon as possible.  Malfoy and his gang sneered at me, but I paid them no mind; I was far too used to it to care at this point.  An owl swooped overhead and landed in front of me, a copy of the _Daily Prophet in its beak.  I paid the owl and opened my newspaper to the front page.  The image in front of me made me spit out my pumpkin juice._

            Ten black and white photographs, nine men and one woman, stared back at me.  Some were jeering silently; others were tapping their fingers on their frames, looking insolent.  I had heard of some of the people whose pictures were in the paper, but one stood out in my mind.  The lone woman looked a little familiar, and the blood drained from my face when I read the caption under her picture.

            _Bellatrix Lestrange: convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom._

            _That's my mother? I thought as I looked at the picture.  She looked nothing like what I had imagined her to be.  She had long, dark hair that was unkempt and straggly.  Her eyes were heavily lidded and she had retained the vestiges of good looks, but something—perhaps Azkaban—had stripped her of her beauty.  I continued to read the article._

_MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN_

_MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT'_

_FOR OLD DEATH EATERS_

            _The Ministry of Magic announced late last night that there has been a mass breakout from Azkaban._

_            Speaking to reporters in his private office, Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic, confirmed that ten high-security prisoners escaped in the early hours of yesterday evening and that he has already informed the Muggle Prime Minister of the dangerous nature of these individuals._

_            "We find ourselves, most unfortunately, in the same position we were two and a half years ago when the murderer Sirius Black escaped," said Fudge last night.  "Nor do we thing the two breakouts are unrelated.  An escape of this magnitude suggests outside help, and we must remember that Black, as the first person to ever break out of Azkaban, would be ideally placed to help others follow in his footsteps.  We think it likely that these individuals, who include Black's cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, have rallied around Black as their leader.  We are, however, doing all we can to round up the criminals, and we beg the magical community to remain alert and cautious.  On no account should any of these individuals be approached."_

            I placed the newspaper down with shaking hands.  My mother was _free_?  Well, not exactly, but you get my drift.  What'll happen now? Will she come and find me, or is she just going to leave me in the care of the orphanage, even though my aunt Narcissa and uncle Lucius have more than enough to support me and their son at the same time?  I didn't have time to ponder on this, because the bell rang and I had Arithmacy with the Ravenclaws.

***

            Over the next few days, all I could hear about was the breakout.  It was discussed everywhere, even though teachers couldn't discuss it with the students because of Educational Decree number I-don't-know-and-really-couldn't-give-a-fuck implemented by Professor Umbridge.  My classmates ignored me or skirted me in the halls, probably because my mother was one of the escapees. Didn't matter to me, though; it just meant I had more time to myself to do what I pleased.

            A few weeks after the appearance of the stirring article in the _Prophet, a letter was sent to me.  I was surprised; I never, and I mean _never _got mail.  It just wasn't done.  I did the first thing I could think of; I took out my wand and checked for curses.  Seeing as there was none, I slit the unfamiliar seal open with a clean butter knife.  The scroll unfurled, revealing neat and ordered handwriting._

_Dearest William,_

_            In case you haven't noticed, I have broken out of Azkaban.  I am shocked and appalled that you didn't even consider coming to find me! I'm your mother, for fuck's sake! Well, no matter.  Have your things packed and be ready to go at __midnight__ tonight. Be sure to have this parchment with you, as it is a portkey to where I am hiding. _

_All my love, _

_Mummy_

            I carefully smoothed the parchment out over the table and re-read it.  The one question running through my mind was _how in the hell did this letter get by the Inquisitorial Squad?  The Inquisitorial Squad was something that Umbridge had thought up to keep order in the school, made up of children whose parents were all loyal to the Ministry, and they were all Slytherins.  Malfoy and his goons were most of them, but there were a few others that were sixth and seventh years.  I, of course, wasn't even considered to be a member, but what did I care?_

            I went through my day like a zombie, not knowing what to expect.  I think a few people were commenting on my slightly odder-than-usual behavior, but I was too distracted to notice.  I sat on my bed at midnight, the heavy velvet curtains closed so that none of my housemates would go prying. Not that they would anyway. I sat there, and suddenly I felt the familiar pull of a hook just behind my navel. I was rushing through a bright tunnel of light before landing, causing me to lose balance and fall on my face.

               

                          


	2. Chapter 2

Death Eater's Child—Chapter 2

            "Get up, you stupid oaf!" exclaimed a harsh voice above me. I felt a claw-like grip on my upper arm, and I was roughly pulled to my feet.  I knew I was going to have fingerprint bruises on my arm come morning, but I wasn't worried about that at the moment.  I was more worried about where I was.

            I had landed in the sitting room of a magnificent house that had seen better days.  I could smell the scent of decaying wood, and something else—the foul stench of evil.  I looked up at the person who helped me up, and my eyes locked with those of my mother.

            She was even more intimidating in person.  Her hands were long and thin, her fingers ending in long, yellowed nails.  Her skin was deathly pale and her eyes were sunken.  When she sneered at me, I could see yellowed and blackened teeth.  I almost fainted when she breathed on me, her breath was so foul.

            "Well, what are you staring at?" she asked hoarsely.  It was obvious that she hadn't used her voice in many years; I guess no one did much talking while they were in Azkaban.  "You do know how to speak, don't you? Or are you so dim that you can only grunt?"

            "I can speak just fine," I said, finally finding my voice.  There was no way I was going to be compared to Crabbe and Goyle; after all, they were the only ones I knew that could fluently speak Troll. 

            "That's good," my mother said absently.  "Bit scrawny, aren't you? Doesn't that sister of mine feed you at all?"

            It was true; I was quite small for my age, and the size deficiency was accentuated by my large robes.  The orphanage never really had much money, so we didn't get fed very well at times.

            "Hate to tell you, Mummy dearest," I began with cool sarcasm, "but your dear, wonderful sister's hospitality extended to sending me to a destitute orphan asylum in the slums of wizarding London.  I never knew I had family until I arrived at Hogwarts."

            I glared at my mother, but it was short-lived because my mother slapped me, her long claws slicing my cheek open.  I raised a hand to my cheek, and sure enough there was blood running down my face.  I looked up at my mother, whose face was a visage of cold fury.

            "Speak of your family in tones of respect, or don't speak at all.  You come from a long line of purebloods, and you should be proud of your superior heritage," she said.  "Now come along, William.  Our Lord is anxious to see you."  She grabbed my arm again, and I winced in pain.  That, of course, was the last thing on my mind.  Surely she didn't mean He Who Must Not Be Named, did she?

            We entered a room, and there was a large, wing-back chair in front of the fireplace.  I recognized nine of the people in the room almost immediately; they were the Death Eaters who had escaped from Azkaban.  Standing near the mantle was Lucius Malfoy, my uncle, and many others scattered around the room.  I had no clue who they were, though.     

            "Bring him forward," said a snake-like voice from the depths of the chair.  My mother led me by the arm to the front of the chair, and I could see who it was.  The image in front of me will be burned into the backs of my eyeballs for the rest of my days.

            Voldemort was not what I expected.  He was not a man; to tell you the truth, I couldn't tell you what he was.  His scarlet, snake-like eyes regarded me with suspicion as his flat, slit like nostrils flared.  His lipless mouth parted, and a forked tongue darted out, tasting the air.

            "Do not stare, boy!" hissed my mother.  "Kiss his robes!"  I hastily went to my knees and kissed the hem of his robes.  I straightened up and bowed my head in respect; I didn't exactly want to be yelled at. In case you didn't notice, I don't take criticism very well.

            Voldemort still regarded me with suspicion, and I could feel his angry crimson eyes burning into me.

            "He's a little on the runty side, Bella," he remarked, looking me up and down.  "Of course, size has nothing to do with loyalty or magical strength, now does it?" He shot my mother a look.  "He _is loyal, isn't he?"_

            "Of course my Lord, of course," said my mother in a fluttery, girlish voice, bowing so low that her cleavage was exposed.  Voldemort looked on appreciatively as I cringed at the interaction.  I mean, how the hell that could that happen? Assuming, of course, Voldemort was more snake than human.  I came to the conclusion that I would never join the Death Eaters, even if it was just to save myself from seeing my mother and Voldemort make goo-goo eyes at each other.

            "Crucio," hissed Voldemort suddenly, catching me off guard.  The Cruciatus curse hit me like a ton of bricks, and it took the wind out of me.  Within seconds I was in the ground, writhing and screaming in pain. As suddenly as it had begun, the pain was over.  I rolled over and stared at the ceiling, panting heavily.

            "Not very tough, is he Bella?" Voldemort remarked in a conversational tone.  "Or attentive, for that matter.  Are you sure he's your son?"

            "Yes, my Lord, I am certain," simpered my mother, giving her Lord a sickeningly sweet smile.  At least, it would have been sickeningly sweet if her teeth hadn't been yellow and black.  So, really, it was just sickening.  "He must have gotten that from Rodolphus' side of the family."

            Someone in the shadows coughed slightly, making himself known. Everyone in the room turned to the source of the noise.  Out of the corner stepped a tall, thin man with dirty, matted, waist length hair.  He, like almost everyone else in the room, had the gaunt, haunted look of Azkaban.

            "Don't you think you should at least wait until I am out of hearing range before you start slandering me, Bella?" he asked, glaring down at my mother.

            "Oh, it's you, Rodolphus! I didn't see you there!" Bellatrix said, with obvious fake surprise.  

            "That, Bella was obvious," Rodolphus replied coldly.  I watched my parents, fascinated. They had one of the strangest husband-wife relationships I had ever seen.  Of course, the only other husband and wife partnership I had seen was the two people that ran the orphanage I lived at two months of the year.

            "Well, you shouldn't be hiding in the corners," huffed my mother. "It's a very creepy thing to do."

"You said so yourself when your father told you that you had to marry me," my father began.  He put on a high, squeaky parody of a girl's voice.  "'I'm not going to marry him; he's creepy!'"  I winced; it reminded me too much of Pansy Parkinson for my liking.

            "I don't remember that," my mother said quickly, looking around nervously.  She changed the subject.  "Shouldn't we get William back to the school before anyone notices that he's gone?"

            "You've never cared about anyone but yourself," spat my father. "Come William, you have to get back to the school before Severus, or anyone else, figures out you're missing."

            My father pulled out his wand and picked up a scrap piece of paper and took out his wand. "_Portus," he said. The paper glowed slightly, and after the glowing subsided, my father handed the Portkey to me. "Just touch the Portkey, William, and it'll take you back to Hogwarts."_

            "Thank you Father," I said, taking the paper. For the second time that night, I felt a tug behind my navel and was flung through a tunnel of swirling light and colour before landing on something soft. 

            The thing I landed on was soft, warm and _alive. _My eyes widened as the person I landed on stirred and rolled over, and I was faced with the countenance of Crabbe (or was it Goyle? I could never tell those two apart), who was still fast asleep. I quietly slipped out of the fifth year's dormitory and tiptoed my way to my dormitory, where I lay down on my bed and breathed a sigh of relief, hoping that no one would remember me falling on them in the middle of the night. 


	3. Chapter 3

Death Eater's Child-Chapter 3  
  
I rose the next morning, feeling as if I hadn't slept at all. That was understandable; after all, I didn't get back to the school until three in the morning. I checked my watch; it read nine AM. While I would have liked to lie in bed all morning, I had a fair bit of homework that needed to be done.  
  
My O.W.L.s weren't until next year, but my teachers were already piling on the homework, probably to prepare us for the workload that was to come next year. I also had a tutoring session with a second year, Malcolm Baddock, later in the afternoon. He was a quiet, morose twelve year old who was a lot like myself and the closest thing to a friend I had.  
  
I quickly jumped into the shower, turning the water on cold in an effort to wake myself up. I then dressed in my too-large clothes and made my way to the Great all to get some remnants of breakfast. I knew that there wouldn't be very much on the table at this point, but I had to get what I could. I was skinny enough as it was.  
  
On my way to the Great Hall, someone emerged from the shadows and pulled me in with them. My imagination began running wild as I was slammed up against the wall and a hand was held over my mouth.  
  
"Hello William, fancy meeting you here," said a mocking voice. I couldn't see the speakers face, but I knew exactly who it was: my cousin, Draco Malfoy. I had heard that voice throwing insults at me so many times over the past three and a half years that I don't think I could ever forget it. On either side of him I could hear the sound of knuckles cracking threateningly. Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
"Let me go, Malfoy," I said. "I have things to do."  
  
"Things like what, dear cousin?" asked Draco. When I didn't answer immediately, he changed his tone. "Look, William, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. Do you think we could, I don't know, call a truce or something?" I knew that something was definitely out of whack, and I was getting suspicious. Why, after almost four years of jeering and insults, would Draco want to make peace? I had a feeling that Voldemort or Lucius had something to do with this, most possibly both.  
  
"You really think I'm going to believe that?" I asked. "For once, Draco, you're going to have to try hard to persuade someone to your line of thinking." I tried to get past my cousin, but I was slammed against the wall again. Draco stepped into the light, and I could see the feral, predatory glint in his cold grey eyes.  
  
"Oh, I do, do I?" he asked, his voice now downright frosty. "Trust me, I have my ways." He then released me and began to walk away. I was a little puzzled at this, but I tried to take advantage of the situation and make a quick exit. However, before I could take one step, Draco turned around. "Crabbe, Goyle, convince William, will you?"  
  
The two trollish thugs closed in on me, laughing stupidly as they cracked their knuckles menacingly. I back up against the wall, my wand drawn. Before I could even cast a spell, Goyle (or was it Crabbe?) swung his arm around and hit me with a powerful right hook. I was out before I even hit the ground.  
  
***  
  
I tried to get up off the cold stone floor. As it turned out, I couldn't; I was in too much pain. I couldn't remember what Crabbe and Goyle had done to me. Judging by how much I was hurting, the two big lugheads had probably gotten a few hits in while I was out in la-la land. I tried to get up again, and despite my body's protests, I managed to get to my feet. Holding onto the wall for support, I tried to decide what to do next. I knew I should go to Madame Pomfrey, but then she would ask a few awkward questions that I would be reluctant to answer. I put off that option for a while and put a few concealing charms on myself.  
  
The charms I used aren't usually taught until sixth or seventh year; I just had a lot of time one afternoon and decided to check out a few books from the library and teach myself them. I've been compared to the Granger mudblood once and only once. I didn't appreciate it, and the person making the comparison ended up getting an anonymous letter filled with Bubotuber pus. I had a great laugh over that, and no one has compared me to the Granger girl since.  
  
I checked my watch; it was ten minutes to lunch. With some difficulty, I stopped leaning on the wall and stood on my own. In some respects, I wasn't surprised that no one had found me; this part of the dungeons was rarely used. The only other people who knew about the corridor were some older Slytherins, obviously including Draco, Crabbe and Goyle, and possibly Professor Snape. Since none of them liked me all that much, I wouldn't expect them to mop me up.  
  
I slowly shuffled up to the Great Hall so I could get something in me. I hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday, so of course I would be hungry. I had been too nervous the previous evening to eat anything.  
  
I sat at my usual spot at the Slytherin table. Before I could get a singe bite of my beef casserole into my mouth, Draco and his cronies entered the Great Hall. Much to my surprise, they headed, not to the center of the table where all the action was, but right across from me.  
  
"Fancy meeting you here, William," said Draco with a smirk. Crabbe and Goyle snickered stupidly.  
  
"I could say the same to you," I replied coolly, taking a bite of my casserole. "Don't you usually sit over there?" I pointed to where Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode had there heads bent over a magazine, mist likely Witch Weekly.  
  
"Variety is the spice of life," replied Draco. "Besides, and I'm sure you can agree with this, they're irritating and about as intelligent as a couple of floberworms. So, how are you doing, dear cousin?"  
  
"Pretty good," I began sarcastically, "considering I had the shit beat out of me and was knocked out for two and a half hours. Of course, beating me up isn't the way to get me to see your way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a fair bit of homework to do, and I would like to get a good start on it so I won't have so much to do tomorrow." With that, I got up and left the Great Hall, toting my bag behind me. I made my way to the library and sat at the back table that Malcolm and I usually sat at during our study sessions. I pulled out my books and began my long afternoon of studying.  
  
***  
  
"You look like shit."  
  
I looked up to see Malcolm standing over me with a grin on his face.  
  
"That's a nice greeting," I replied sarcastically. "Could you have at least said 'hello' first?" Malcolm sighed.  
  
"Okay then," he said. "Hello Will. You look like shit."  
  
I rolled my eyes. "Didn't your mother tell you not to swear?" Malcolm shrugged as he sat across from me.  
  
"My mother really didn't care about me," he replied. "She never really wanted children, and she left the house elves and a nanny to raise me."  
  
"Well, we're not here to talk about how we were raised, are we? We're here to keep your grades up," I said, getting back to the task at hand.  
  
I had stumbled on this tutoring job by accident. Professor McGonagall had seen my aptitude for Transfiguration was well above normal, and had asked me if I would like to tutor a struggling fellow Slytherin a few years below me. I had a feeling that she would have asked a member of her own house, but didn't because she knew that a Slytherin would respond better to one of their own kind. I took the job, if only to get the self-satisfaction of helping another person. I know, I know, not very Slytherin of me, but it gets better. After a couple of weeks, I got a letter from Malcolm's mother, asking me how much I would like to be paid for tutoring her son. I took the offered five Galleons a week without any questions, and while it wasn't much, it was something. I was planning on getting my own place right out of Hogwarts, and I needed to get as much saved up as possible. Of course, you don't want to hear about that, now do you?  
  
"Exactly," agreed Malcolm. He extracted his most recent piece of Transfiguration homework for me to look over. I carefully explained what he had done right, and made suggestions on how it could be made better. He was getting much, much better; at the beginning of the year, I had to pretty much rewrite the entire thing so he could get a passing grade. Because of my work with Malcom, and my ability to keep my own marks up, McGonagall is already after me to take the NEWT level Transfiguration class. I was planning on it anyway, whether or not McGonagall asked me.  
  
Malcolm and I worked together, making sure all of his work was correct before moving to an empty classroom to work on the practical aspect of the course, 


End file.
